The Color Purple
by IseeURtrueCOLORS
Summary: There was hardly a thing special or significant about it, if your name wasn’t Danny Fenton. But it was her color, and to him, that’s all that mattered.


It wasn't a color that anybody thought of twice. It wasn't so bold that every one had to stand back when it was worn. It wasn't so shy that it made you blend in with the wall paper. There was hardly a thing special or significant about it, if your name wasn't Danny Fenton. But it was her color, and to him, that's all that mattered.

"_Danny, help me!" This she screamed as she was slowly slipping from the third story of the building. He was trying desperately to not let himself be controlled by Vlad's brainwashing machine._

When they were younger he use to ask her why she liked purple so much, and she would always tell him the same thing. "Because I do," she would say, "It's the color for me". He had always wondered how anyone could have a color that's made them, them. He still doesn't know, for he has many colors. But this color was hers.

She was nothing special. She wasn't the most popular girl in school, she wasn't a kick-ass ghost hunter like Maddie or Valerie, she wasn't the star of the basketball team and she didn't know everything there was to know about technology. She wasn't as Goth as her "gothic friends", believe it or not. She wasn't the town hero. She wasn't the clone of the town's hero. She didn't like fudge all that much either. She was not a satellite of Paullina and Dash. She wasn't her parents. She was absolutely nothing.

Well, to him, she meant everything.

_He struggled and struggled to not let himself be controlled by Vlad. He knew there was someone he had to save._

_He watched as she slipped off the building's ledge. He immediately remembered who he was and went to the ledge to try and save her. He went ghost and was terrified as he saw her screaming form getting farther and farther away from him. He reached out and tried to fly faster down and save her, but it was like she was just too far away. It was like for every inch she fell down, he went one inch back._

_And finally, she crashed. Her head made impact first, breaking her neck in half. Her screams were heard no more, but his were to make up for that. She couldn't hear him, but he said her name. And he yelled, hollered, shook her- banged his fist and kicked his feet into the ground. _

_She still couldn't hear him. She couldn't help him…_

Being she was always good enough for him. He wouldn't change her into a Paullina or a Valerie if he wanted to. Because she was Sam.

She was the girl who always wore a black skirt and shirt, had her hair tied up in a half-pony tail, and never went anywhere without her combat boots, and to go with them, she wore _purple_ stockings.

She was the girl who would spend hours in her room, listening to anti-social youth cd's. She went to many poetry slams and enjoyed going to the bookstore. And apparently, she was at least somewhat sexually attractive (or so that's what _some boys, _such as Elliot, think).

She liked anything without meat, and occasionally helped fight ghost with Danny and Tucker, (although they have told her to "let us boys handle it").

She was wealthy, but who cares? Not her, obviously. She was perfectly happy with having a ten-inch TV in her bedroom, and 10 bottles of black nail polish on her dresser.

But how could I possibly tell you about Samantha Manson?

_As Danny watched her slowly die, he murderously screamed. He was in pain, in agony. Yes, his hands were cut and bruised from banging his fist into the ground, and his ankles were nearly broken from kicking so hard at nothing. But the physical pain couldn't even come close. It was just to help him get sidetracked from the over-bearing deadly pain in his heart. _

_As he screamed her name over and over, those who saw what was happening didn't need to know what he was trying to say. For the "I need and love you's", came out with every sound he made. The heard him say it with every tear drop, and every yell, every kick and every scar-they heard him say I love you. But she didn't, because she was dead._

The walls of her room were painted purple. The first painting she did, which is hanging on the refrigerator, was of a black and purple butterfly. She had painted it after her grandma had explained to her what a chrysalis turns into after it's done "hibernating".

She had a purple notebook to use as a planner to write down her homework assignments in, and she had a purple pen that she wrote them down with. The pen had feathers on the end of it, and she always use to tickle his nose with it. He has her pen now.

_Danny turned back around and saw Vlad looking at him. Smirking at him. _

_Danny's eyes showed no signs of hate…or of forgiveness. They were hollow, dead, empty, uncaring, apathetic…_and she was his everything…_he had lost his everything._

_In one breath, he unleashed one final scream, his ghostly wail. It sent Plasmius knocked to the ground where Danny struck a blow to his neck, breaking it in half. _

_He picked up the now limp man from the ground and scanned his fearful eyes. _

"_I want you to die the way she did." He flew Vlad up to the third story building, and pushed him off. Plasmius was nearly unconscious already and could do nothing to save himself. As soon as he made contact with the uninviting concrete, he died._

_Everyone stared in shock. But he flew out of the scene, leaving the people behind._

Now he lies in her room as Danny Fenton, laying on her bed, and staring. He was hugging her pillow like it was her. He took notice of everything in the room, as if it would be his last time seeing it. She had her 10 bottles of black nail polish on her dresser, all untouched and full. She had some of her clothes scattered about the floor, including her purple stockings. There was an open poetry book on her nightstand, and a few of her drawings scattered about here and there. Most were of him. He noticed that lying on the floor was her feathery purple pen and purple-stuffed gorilla that he had given her to remind her of Samson. It was sort of an inside joke between him, her, and Tucker.

He was staring at it for a couple more minutes before he stood up and took both of the items. He went ghost, and returned home with them.

Now whenever sees a young women wearing purple, he thinks that it should be her, because that's _her _color. And when he walks by her favorite bookstore, he thinks she should be in their reciting poetry. And whenever he hears about who hooked up with whom because so-and-so admitted their feelings, he thinks he should have too. And when he sees people getting married, he thinks about her in a purple wedding dress, on her wedding day, the happiest women in the world, at that time. He thinks about her having a baby girl, and him holding the little bundle of joy, wrapped in a purple blanket.

And as I have said before, this is her color. It was significant to her, just because it was. It was the color of the first rose he ever gave her, and it was the color she was wearing when he fell in love with her. It was the color he'd grown accustomed and expected to see her wear every day.

It was a color like no other. It was yin and yang mixed together. It could be light or dark.

He liked this color for her because it was the color of her eyes.

And she had beautiful eyes.


End file.
